


In Odessa

by Scrunyuns



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Ableism, And a bit of fluff, Angst, Child Abuse, Established Relationship, Gore, M/M, could possibly be trigger-y for some, i am trash, mentions of past physical abuse, non-graphic references to violence, soz!!!, this is the most fucked up shit I've ever written istg, unhinged Numbers trynna be romantic in a really van Gogh-ish way, what's in the booooooooox?!?! haha, wrench's shitty childhood :-(, wrenchers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunyuns/pseuds/Scrunyuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they're told their next hit is in Texas, Wrench is not happy. Not happy at all.</p><p>It's is a huge state, though, so Numbers doesn't really see what the big deal is. Wrench grew up in and around Wichita Falls, and their job is in Odessa. Hundreds of miles apart. The chances of them bumping into someone from Wrench's past are slim at best. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Odessa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maskedbandit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maskedbandit/gifts).



> First of all I'd like to warn you that what you're about to read is profoundly fucked up, so if you are faint hearted or triggered by depictions of child abuse, you probably shouldn't read this. Secondly, I'd like to point out that whenever I write something fucked up, it is not for shock value and not meant to offend. People say "write what you know," and I'm simply doing that. I find that it helps me.

When they're told their next hit is in Texas, Wrench is not happy. Not happy at all.

Numbers knows his partner didn't have a good time growing up there, but Wrench has never really been the sharing kind. He only ever makes vague references to his childhood, never giving up the full story, so it's up to Numbers to piece everything together. So far he is sure of five things: One, Wrench never knew his father. Two, his mother died. Three, he grew up in foster care, and was separated from his twin brother. Four, it was _awful_. And five, he got out of Texas first chance he got.

It's is a huge state, though, so Numbers doesn't really see what the big deal is. Wrench grew up in and around Wichita Falls, and their job is in Odessa. Hundreds of miles apart. The chances of them bumping into someone from Wrench's past are slim at best.

\---

The hit had been unusually easy; apart from skipping town, that imbecile hadn't made the slightest effort to keep his head down after taking off with a batch of Fargo's meth. All they'd had to do was follow the dirty money.

He'd squealed like a pig before they'd even pulled out their tools, and the barren wasteland on the outskirts of Odessa is a paradise for someone looking to dispose of a body. Fargo had given them four days from reaching Texas. They'd finished the job in less than three.

"It's done. We got everything we need."

"Woah, that was quick," the voice at the other end chirps. "Good on ya, boys!"

"Yeah thanks, Oz," Numbers says, cringing at the sound of that grating accent. "So, what're the instructions? Do we finish the job?"

"Depends how much manpower you need. Think you can take it on, just the two of ya?"

"Well, it's small time stuff... but maybe send some people down just in case. And supplies."

"Alright, I'll take it up with the bossman," Jergen says. "Just hang tight. Enjoy the sun, have a pint! I'll text ya later."

"Cool."

When Numbers returns to their table, his partner looks up at him like a puppy waiting for a dog biscuit.

_Oz says to stay._

Wrench sighs and slumps back into his seat.

 _It'll only be for a few days, I think,_ Numbers signs. _Cheer up! It's not so bad here. The sun is shining, we can hang out for a bit. Relax._

Wrench huffs and stares out the window, not the least bit relaxed.

\---

Albertsons is huge, and Wrench soon loses sight of his partner. He's not too worried, as they both have their burner phones on them. For a while he just strolls around, looking through the aisles and enjoying the cool breeze of the air con.

He's inspecting a can of peaches when he notices something moving in the corner of his eye, and he has to do a double take.

In the alcohol section stands a man, carefully considering a bottle of vodka. Licking his lips, his wet eyes shifting from the bottle to the crumpled up dollar bills in his hand, he looks more or less the same as Wrench remembered him, but for the bald spot and the now more pronounced beer gut. He's still sporting that appalling soul patch, still wearing that red and black flannel shirt.

Wrench swallows, puts the can back on the shelf and slowly retreats, walking backwards, never taking his eyes off the man.

He finds his partner in the snack aisle.

 _They don't have S-C-R-U-N-Y-U-N-S!_ Numbers signs when he sees him, arms flying. _Can you believe this shit!_

_We have to leave. Now._

_What? Why?_

_Because. Let's go._

_Can I at least get some smokes?_

_Alright,_ Wrench signs. _But I'm waiting in the car._

When Numbers finally joins him, paper bag in hand and a lit cigarette hanging off the side of his mouth, Wrench barely spares him a glance. His eyes are fixed on the supermarket entrance. Spotting that familiar red and black flannel, Wrench goes rigid and clutches the steering wheel.

 _Are we going or what?_ His partner asks to no avail, and starts waving a hand in front of his face.

Wrench slaps the hand away, his eyes still following the man as he walks across the parking lot, gets into a gray SUV and drives off. Numbers notices this, and nudges his partner.

 _Who was that?_ he asks.

Wrench continues to ignore him, putting the key in the ignition and firing up the car.

\---

He allows himself a minor freak-out once he's safely within the confines of the motel bathroom, and when he emerges he finds Numbers sitting at the table with a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

 _Nightcap?_ He offers.

_No drinking on the job._

_Yeah well, we're on hiatus,_ Numbers signs and pours into his partner's glass. _And you look like you need one._

Wrench reluctantly takes a seat in the chair opposite his partner.

_So, are you going to tell me who that guy was?_

Wrench shakes his head.

 _Come on,_ Numbers signs. _Did he say something shitty to you at the store?_

_No. He didn't say anything._

_But you know him?_

Wrench sighs. There's no way around it, apparently; Numbers will just keep asking questions. _Might as well spill._

_He was my foster father._

_Not a very nice one, I guess?_ Numbers asks, and suddenly his face goes very grave. _Did he touch you?_

 _No,_ Wrench signs. _He wasn't_ that _kind of asshole._

_Well, what then?_

_He almost killed me._

Numbers leans back in his seat, at a loss for words.

 _You ever had an out-of-body experience?_ Wrench asks.

 _Yeah, once,_ Numbers replies with a nod. _That time in K-E-N-O-S-H-A, when I got shot in the stomach. I told you about that. It was fucked up, man._

 _I've had it, too,_ Wrench confesses. _And I'm not sure if I my heart actually stopped or if it was just such a traumatic experience that I left my body for a bit, but I can't remember anything that happened immediately after. Complete blackout. And that worries me._

Numbers takes a big gulp of his whiskey, shuddering slightly as it burns his throat going down.

_So, what, you think he killed you and brought you back to life?_

_I don't know,_ Wrench signs. _Maybe. He was a firefighter and knew how to resucitate people, so-_

 _I'm sorry,_ Numbers interrupts, rubbing the bridge of his nose. _So let's say he killed you. How did he did he do it, exactly? I mean..._

He trails off, shaking his head, and Wrench gets the feeling that he's not entirely on board.

 _Nevermind,_ Wrench signs, getting up from his chair, but his partner stops him.

 _No,_ Numbers signs, grabbing his arm. _I'll listen. Just start from the beginning._

So Wrench tells him the story of Eugene Fletcher, who decided to become a foster father after he learned how much money he'd get for it. His wife Kirsten was a meek, mousy little thing who would give in to her husband's every whim, and together they had taken in a number of kids over the years, just to make them toil in the corn fields of their farm. They added Wrench to their collection when he was eight years old.

Eugene had a hot temper and would often beat both his wife and the kids. Due to their common enemy, Wrench formed strong bonds with his foster mother and siblings, but most of the kids weren't orphans like him and were eventually sent back to their parents. Kirsten died when Wrench was ten, of the same strain of cervical cancer that his real mother had suffered. After that, the beatings grew more severe - most of all for Wrench.

 _I think it was because I'm deaf,_ he explains. _He never bothered to learn ASL, just screamed at me and expected me to read his lips. When I couldn't, he hit harder. So I learned to read lips pretty fast._

Wrench takes a sip of his whiskey and continues.

 _Living in that house was like I imagine living under a dictatorship: Watching your every step, walking on eggshells, just trying to keep your head down and get through the day. But sometimes I'd do the wrong thing without even realizing it._ Wrench takes a second to consider this.  _Or maybe I wasn't doing anything wrong at all, he just needed someone to punch and any excuse would do. No matter how feeble._

Numbers is silent through it all, but Wrench can tell from his partner's grinding teeth and flaring nostrils that he's pissed. He's even got tears brimming at the corners of his eyes, which tends to happen when he's particularly furious about something. Wrench is touched; he knows his partner never gets sentimental about anything, least of all children, so to get this kind of reaction from him is very welcome.

 _Anyway,_ Wrench continues, _so one day I eat a loaf of his bread - you know, because he didn't let us eat anything but corn and I was so fucking hungry all the time - and that's when all hell breaks loose._

 _What happened?_ Numbers asks and leans forward, eyes wild with worry.

_He chases me around the house, all fire and brimstone, and I'm hiding behind the couch... so fucking stupid, to think that he wouldn't find me. I was terrified, there was nowhere else to go._

_So what did he do?_

_Well, here's the part where it gets kind of fucked up and weird,_ Wrench signs. _Apparently, he'd bought a whole new loaf of bread, just so he could ram it down my throat._

Numbers' eyes widen even further, his thick, dark eyebrows knitting together into an almost-monobrow.

"What the fuck," he says, drawing out each syllable, forgetting to sign altogether.

_Now do you understand why I haven't told you about my childhood? Why I didn't want to come here?_

"How..." Numbers starts, running his hands over his face as he tries to compose himself. _How old were you?_

_Eleven._

"Jesus fucking Christ."

 _I didn't remember it until I was about eighteen,_ Wrench adds. _I guess I'd repressed that memory, and it only came back to me when I was a safe distance away._

_Self-preservation._

_I guess so._

_So you think you actually died?_ Numbers asks, seeming more open to the idea now.

_Maybe. I just wish I knew for sure._

_God,_ Numbers signs, slumping back in his seat. _That's some tough shit to carry around with you._

_Yeah, it's been gnawing at me for a few years now._

Numbers doesn't say anything for a while, just sits there staring out the window with a brooding look on his face, chewing on his bottom lip.

 _Why didn't you beat his ass to a pulp when you had the chance?_ he finally asks.

 _Was scared,_ Wrench signs with a shrug.

No, I mean at the supermarket.

_Was still scared._

Numbers frowns.

_He's half your size!_

_I don't think you understand how this works,_ Wrench signs. _Anyway, I'm not about to fuck up a job just to kick his sorry ass._

Numbers nods, but he doesn't look like he agrees.

_Did you know he would be here?_

_No. How he ended up here, I have no idea. Probably got found out and had to give up the kids and sell the farm._

_What are the odds._

_Yes, well, let's just hope we don't see him tomorrow,_ Wrench signs, standing up and stretching. _Lightning don't strike in the same place twice, right?_

Numbers nods softly, glassy-eyed. Wrench polishes off his scotch and bends down to give his partner a kiss before heading off to the shower.

 _Thanks for listening,_ he signs with a smile.

 _Anytime,_ Numbers replies, trying his very best to smile back.

As the hot water engulfs him, Wrench reflects on the day; it had started off like shit, but in the end it wasn't all bad. Venting to Numbers has taken an enormous load off his mind - he hadn't told that story to anyone before, not even his brother - and having his story be met with compassion was a relief, to say the least. He'd expected to be laughed at, to be called weak.

Numbers is fast asleep by the time Wrench steps out, and he has left a glass of water for him on the nightstand.

\---

The alarm clock by the bed says 4:00 PM when Wrench wakes up. _That can't be right._

When he turns over and sees that his partner's side of the bed is empty, he goes to look for him in the bathroom - no Numbers there, either. Going over to the window, he opens the curtains and peers out.

The car is gone.

Wrench grabs his discarded pants and retrieves his phone from the back pocket. That display wouldn't lie to him; it really is four in the afternoon.

'Where are you?' he texts his partner. 'Why did you let me sleep in so late?'

It's not like Wrench to sleep in. Suddenly, he remembers the glass of water.

_Oh, he wouldn't._

\---

The text message ticks in on Numbers' phone with a loud _bleep-bleep!_ just as he's about to pull the first tooth.

"Goddamnit," he hisses, digging into his pocket.

He takes one glance at the message, opting to ignore it, and proceeds to remove all evidence of his victim's identity.

\---

 _Where the fuck were you?_  Wrench signs with frantic hands as soon as Numbers walks in the door.

_Nice to see you too._

_You have been gone for hours! I was worried sick!_

_Okay, mom,_ Numbers signs and holds out a donut box. _Got a present for you._

It's all soggy at the bottom and it reeks. Wrench gives his partner a long, hard stare.

_These aren't donuts, are they._

Numbers snorts a laugh and unfolds the flaps on the box for his partner to have a look: Inside is a pair of severed human hands.

Wrench takes a step back. He's used to this kind of thing when it's work, but Numbers is offering it to him as some kind of fucked up trophy and it's creeping him out.

 _Look familiar?_ Numbers signs, and that twisted, toothy grin of his is hands down the most terrifying thing Wrench has ever seen.

_You're a sick fuck._

With a sigh, Numbers gingerly places the box on the table.

 _I'm a hitman,_ he signs. _And so are you._

_Yeah, but unlike you I kill for money, not sport!_

_This wasn't for sport._

_What, then?_ Wrench signs, throwing his arms out.

Numbers looks at him like he's an idiot.

_What do you think?_

_If this is you trying to say you love me, you're making a fucking mess of it. What am I supposed to do with a pair of gross, dead hands?_

_I just wanted to show them to you, not for you to wear them around your neck! I thought you'd be happy!_

_I never asked you to do this! If I'd wanted him dead, I would have done it myself!_

_But you said you were scared!_

_I was freaked out because I didn't expect to see him there!_ Wrench signs violently, his long arms nearly knocking over the reading lamp on the table. _And we never kill outside the job, you know that! What were you thinking? How am I supposed to trust you now?_

At last his partner is struck dumb, but a look of stubborn defiance still lingers on his face.

 _And another thing,_ Wrench starts, afraid of the answer to what he's about to ask. _Did you drug me last night?_

Numbers slams the door with full force on his way out, crosses the parking lot with long strides, cardboard box tucked under his left arm.

From the window, Wrench watches the dramatic exit flop spectacularly as his partner struggles to get the car started. Seeing him slamming his fists against the interior until finally wearing himself out and slumping against the steering wheel in defeat would normally have made Wrench laugh his ass off, but right now he's just too angry.

Numbers eventually straightens up and attempts to look dignified as he turns the key again, well aware that his partner is still watching him from the window. This time around the car starts.

He takes off, tyres screeching.

\---

Wrench only realizes he'd fallen asleep when the phone vibrating in his pocket wakes him up. It's nine o'clock in the morning, and Numbers still isn't back.

The text from Jergen reads:

'On my way w H & L + supplies. Left yesterday in the arvo. Tried 2 call #, but no answer??? Should b there by midnight. SMOOCH! X-* Oz'

Wrench is relieved that it's them and not Tripoli or any of the others. If Fargo were to find out that Numbers has killed someone outside of work and gone AWOL on top of that, they would both be up shit's creek. He's not at all keen on the prospect of explaining the situation to Hammer and his lovers-slash-sidekicks, in the event that they arrive before Numbers returns, but he trusts them to at least keep their mouths shut.

'OK great. Sorry about Numbers, will explain when you get here. PS: Please stop texting like that, you're a grown man.'

Wrench had spent most of last night pacing around the room, feeling hurt and absolutely _livid_ , but also worried out of his mind. He knows he has every right to be mad at his partner, but he can't help feeling a little bit guilty. _Numbers was just trying to be nice,_ he thinks. _And it's not like I'm not happy that motherfucker is dead._

In spite of everything, Wrench hopes Numbers will be back. He hopes he got rid of his creepy tokens of affection, that he hasn't done anything stupid (again) and that he'll come back to him in one piece - preferably with a sincere apology.

Just as he's about to send his partner a very pathetic text, the room floods with sunlight.

 _Hey,_ Numbers signs, standing in the doorway looking like absolute trash.

 _Hey,_ Wrench replies and gives his partner a hesitant look. _What happened to you?_

 _Got rid of the hands, got drunk, had a fight, got more drunk, fell asleep in the car,_ Numbers signs sloppily as he shuffles over and falls face-down on the bed.

 _S-O-R-R-Y,_ he fingerspells one-handed as he turns his head to look at Wrench with red, puffy eyes.

 _For what?_ Wrench asks. _For drugging me so you could go and avenge me without my permission, putting our jobs and lives at risk, or for giving me body parts as a present, or for taking off like that?_

_A-L-L._

_Apology accepted,_ Wrench signs with a roll of his eyes. _I'm just glad you're back safe._

His partner closes his eyes and smiles blissfully, thinking he's in the clear. Wrench nudges him in the side.

 _But you have to do everything around the house, from now until forever,_ Wrench demands. _And I want lots of nice presents. Not severed body parts!_

_Okay._

_And I get to decide what we watch on TV. Always._

_Okay,_ Numbers agrees, groaning.

_And no more making fun of my jacket._

_Okay._

_And you have to stop smoking and eating S-C-R-U-N-Y-U-N-S, that shit is bad for you anyway._

_N-O D-E-A-L._

_Cut down, at least!_

_F-I-N-E,_ Numbers spells out with a huff.

_Hammer, Letters and Oz are arriving tonight. We are finishing the job._

_D-O-N-T T-E-L-L._

_I won't,_ Wrench promises. _I'll tell them you couldn't answer their calls because you forgot you had your phone on silent. Don't know if they'll buy it, but it's the best we've got._

Numbers thanks him with a hand to his chin.

 _Sure,_ Wrench signs and strokes his partner's hair. _Now get some rest, you fucking freak._


End file.
